


Frivolous Miracles

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Now that Crowley and Aziraphale are free agents, Aziraphale struggles with being an angel still tasked to bless mortals but with no direction. Luckily, his demon is there to help give him a little push.





	Frivolous Miracles

“Go ahead. Do it,” Crowley whispers, the subtle curl of temptation tingling Aziraphale’s ears. He’s immune to it, of course, but he appreciates his demon’s efforts on his behalf. Crowley wants him to do this. He wants him to be happy. He wants him to stand on his own two feet.

And since Aziraphale has been resisting, he’s trying to give him a little push.

“I told you …” Aziraphale gazes through the cage bars in front of him, his heart drenched in sorrow for what he sees on the opposite side “… I _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

“B-because …” Aziraphale straightens his spine, holding hard to ground that wasn’t his to hold to begin with “… it would be _frivolous_.”

“That’s _Gabriel_ talking …” Crowley growls the name “… not you. We’re free agents now! We can do _what_ we please, _when_ we please. And you … you’re a much better angel than him! Always have been, in my opinion.” Crowley leans in closer, his breath caressing Aziraphale’s cheek with every word. “So go ahead. Give it a shot. I know you want to.”

“It … it doesn’t matter if I want to or not. It may interfere with the …”

“Don’t say it,” Crowley grinds through his teeth. “I’m telling you, Aziraphale – do. not. say …”

“The Divine Plan.”

“Grrrr!” Crowley stomps in frustration. “Divine Plan, Divine _Sham_! I don’t give a rat’s ass about the Divine Plan …”

“Shhh!”

“… and neither should you! Listen to me …” He puts his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, doing his best not to squeeze too hard “… do you honestly think that blessing these creatures would harm anyone or anything – _in the grand scheme of the Universe_, that is?”

“Honestly?” Aziraphale gazes longingly at a mass of pathetic beasts whimpering in a corner, huddled together for comfort. “No.”

“Do you think anything _evil _can come of it?”

“I … I don’t think so.”

“No. It wouldn’t. You’d be saving _lives_. Dare I say, bringing joy. Best of all, you’d be doing your _job_. So go ahead, Aziraphale. Do it. Snap your fingers and do your first en masse blessing since …”

“Since the loaves and the fishes, probably.”

Crowley shoots him a look. “That was you?”

Aziraphale looks back at his demon with a huff. “The miracle in question is called the Feeding of the 5,000 and you doubt it was _me_?”

“Fair point.” Crowley turns Aziraphale’s attention back towards the flimsy wire cage. “Do it, Aziraphale. You’ve wanted to for ages. Think about it. This is where it starts – right here, right now. You’re your own angel.”

“My own angel.” Aziraphale’s eyes shimmer a pale blue at that. He knows he’s a cog in a much greater machine, but the thought has appeal.

“You choose who to bless and when to bless them.”

“Yes.”

“No more waiting for memos from that windbag boss of yours.”

“No. No more.”

“So …” Crowley grins like a jaguar closing in for the kill. Sure, he’s helping his angel, but he’s also tempting him – maybe without demonic magic, but what’s the diff? He’s winning “… what are you waiting for?”

Aziraphale raises a hand, grinning to match Crowley’s any day of the week. “Absolutely nothing.”

***

“Did you want the Brie, my dear? Or the Camembert?”

“The Camembert, please. It pairs excellently with the apples. Don’t you think?”

“I do,” Aziraphale agrees, slicing Crowley a sliver of the soft cheese and placing it aside his plate of fruit. The sun shines warm and golden on them, sitting contentedly on Aziraphale’s tartan blanket, picnicking in what might be considered the strangest spot imaginable – a small patch of grass growing outside a rundown, grey brick building by the side of a dirt road.

The grass hadn’t been there an hour ago and neither had the sun. They were both a gift - a miracle, one might say - from a wily old demon to his angel after his first official unsolicited blessing in centuries.

In the relative quiet, they share a nibble, glancing from time to time to the door of the building as if waiting for a play to start.

When the last of the cars leave the parking lot and the attendants begin locking up, Crowley gets his angel’s attention, gesturing with a nod to two employees in red vests.

“I don’t understand it, Gertrude!” the older woman says. “I just … I don’t understand it! What happened today?”

“I don’t know,” Gertrude says, fumbling with frail keys in a dilapidated lock. “I can’t explain it. I mean, it’s not a weekend. Or a holiday. So why the hell did everyone show up?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. But we emptied the shelter! For the first time in all my twenty years here, we actually emptied the shelter!”

“And thank God we did! We were losing money hand over fist! Wat with the repairs to the roof, then the plumbing, and then the fire damage, I had no idea how much longer we were going to be able to go on.” Gertrude side-eyes her companion while she struggles to sort things out. “Are you sure you didn’t do some advertising behind my back, Emily?”

“We didn’t have a single pound to spare for dog food! How was I going to afford advertising?”

“Just checking, just checking.” Gertrude sighs, slinging her purse strap over her shoulder and walking with Emily towards the bus stop. “Well, if you didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, that only leaves one explanation.”

“And what’s that?”

“We have ourselves a true blue guardian angel.”

Crowley turns to his angel and smiles proudly, causing Aziraphale’s cheeks to turn every shade of red known to creation. “Yes, they do,” he says, raising a glass of champagne to his angel. “A damned good one.”


End file.
